


Missingness

by ClassicPlastic



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Class Differences, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Polyamory, Slow Burn, holly is the most relateable character, karen still wants to bone a 19 year old and its still gross, stoncy, theres a lot to talk about, this started as a titantic au and it just got out of hand, too many tags im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicPlastic/pseuds/ClassicPlastic
Summary: When in preparation to marry, one should, under no circumstances, allow their eyes to lay upon another, especially if they be of a lower class. Fraternization with those below ones own station, unless absolutely necessary, is to be avoided. Engaging in a relationship with a person below ones own station is guaranteed to have a young lady, especially an engaged one, ostracized from polite society. If this young lady's fiance were to also engage in a relationship with this same pauper, social ruin would fall upon them both. Alas, that will be the day that up is down and right is left; when two young society people and a pauper fall in love. What a harem that would be!-Polite Society for New Money, by Tina F. Lombard, Duffer Publishing House, 1870





	1. Chapter One

 

 

_Excerpt from ‘The Ladies Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, a Complete Handbook for the use of the Lady in Polite Society’ by Florence Hartley, G. W. Cottrell Publishing House, 1860_

_CONVERSATION_

_The art of conversation consists in the exercise of two fine qualities. You must originate, and you must sympathize; you must possess at the same time the habit of communicating and of listening attentively. The union is rare but irresistible. None but an excessively ill-bred person will allow her attention to wander from the person with whom she is conversing; and especially she will never, while seeming to be entirely attentive to her companion, answer a remark or question made to another person, in another group. Unless the conversation be general among a party of friends, confine your remarks and attention entirely to the person with whom you are conversing. Steele says, "I would establish but one great general rule in conversation, which is this—that people should not talk to please themselves, but those who hear them. This would make them consider whether what they speak be worth hearing; whether there be either wit or sense in what they are about to say; and whether it be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the person to whom, it is spoken."_

_April 23 rd, 1871_

Nancy watched a single drop of water slide down the side of her glass. It rested at the bottom of the glass, and then spread into a tiny dark spot on the tablecloth. She took a breath. It was now or never.

“Father?” She raised her eyes, with the fleeting hope that he would meet them. He didn’t.

“I was wondering if I may accompany you to mill this afternoon.” She looked pointedly at her mother. “That would be alright, wouldn’t it?”

Karen Wheeler returned the expression. Nancy widened her eyes a fragment in a perfect pout. Karen sighed and turned to face her husband. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take her with you.”

He shrugged and mumbled out what was probably ‘sure’ but also could reasonably have been ‘cure’ or ‘boar’.

Nancy did not allow herself to celebrate just yet. She knew what was coming.

Karen righted her posture and picked up her glass. She was making an attempt at feigning indifference, despite the suspicion dancing in her eyes.

“Why do you want to go to the mill, Nancy?” She was trying to catch her in a lie. Nancy could hear it in the soft cadence of her voice; see it in the slight quirk of her brow and inclination of her head. Nancy shrugged her shoulders-a most impolite gesture-and held eye contact with her mother.

“I would like to get out of the house; I think a change of scenery would do me some good.”

Karen let her expression relax. She seemed satisfied with that answer. “Alright, then.”

Nancy smiled at her mother. She didn’t smile back, but chose instead to looks towards her son.

Mike was oblivious to the entire exchange. He was much too busy bouncing between making silly faces at Holly and sulking in that way young people are so very adept.

~

Nancy didn’t actually enjoy her trips to the lumber mill, which was probably why she had managed so well to avoid them for such a long time. The last time she had been there, she had seen her mother making doe eyes at a young laborer, and it had left her with a queasy feeling in her stomach for the rest of the day. She pushed the thought aside. Regardless, the change in routine felt nice. Her usual stomping grounds-home, the park, the gardens-had been feeling dull and unexciting lately. Somewhere out of the ordinary, even as mundane as the mill, was just what she needed to brighten things up a little bit.

She followed her father closely through the corridors. Even here, above the actual working space, she could hear the sounds of sawing wood; could smell the sweet pine and smooth mahogany. Her father stopped suddenly, and Nancy nearly tripped over her skirts trying not to walk into him. He had stopped at a door. It was made of dark, unassuming wood, and bore no marker save for the shining brass door knob. He opened it inwards to reveal his office.

It was just as Nancy remembered: Bare and impersonal. She supposed that was much the way her father was as well; devoid of nearly all interest and personality, cold towards his own wife and children.

Nancy took a seat in the stiff, high-backed chair in the corner, usually reserved for any assistants or other such folks that her father’s clients felt inclined to bring along. This was the boring part, but it was a necessary evil, one that must be sat through. So Nancy sat waited for him to become so immersed in his work that he would never notice her failing to return to him in a punctual manner.

“I’m going to go and take a walk outside.” She said, and stood up. Her father nodded his head, paying no mind to that fact that a busy lumber yard was no place for a young lady to be prancing about.

~

Nancy made sure to be careful when wandering about the mill. She was unfamiliar with the corridors that weren’t immediately connected to her father’s office, and it would be all too easy to catch her boot or petticoat on a stray nail, or even worse, to be caught by one of her father’s employees.

That is why, when she came around a corner to see a man with his back turned towards her, she took two large steps backwards. She was just about to spin on her heel and dart back down the hall when the man turned around. They both froze.

Nancy supposed she been the slightest bit hasty in labeling him as a ‘man’. He looked young, probably only a year or two older than her, if any at all. She figured he was about a head taller than her, give or take a bit-it was hard to tell from a third of a corridors length apart. He had lank blond-brown hair and dark eyes, with faint purple half moons underneath them. He had sharp cheekbones, and was very fair, the type of fairness that one inherits from their parents, which just won’t tan, no matter how much time one spends basking in the sunshine.

Nancy realized she had been staring. She righted herself and looked directly into the strangers face.

“Hello.”

He started the slightest bit, as if he hadn’t expected her to begin speaking. He quickly nodded, then made to turn and escape down the corridor.

“Wait!” Nancy raised her voice a bit, made it more commanding. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling that this stranger was important, that he was someone she needed to talk to. She walked towards him, keeping her back straight and chin level, and stopped a little less than a foot away from him. He watched her cautiously, but did not attempt another retreat.

“Nancy Wheeler.” She said, and stuck out her hand.

The stranger stared at her for a moment longer, then took her hand in his-rough, calloused, but so very gentle-and gave her one, brief shake.

“Jonathan Byers.” He said quietly.

Jonathan. It seemed to fit him. Now that they were closer, Nancy could see that his eyes were actually a very dark brown. He looked at the floor and pulled his hand away.

“I shouldn’t be speaking with you.” He said. Nancy cocked her head to the right.

“Whatever do you mean?” She didn’t need to ask. She knew what he meant.

Jonathan regarded her for a quiet second, and then said, “You’re Mr. Wheeler’s daughter, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a hard connection to make. A nineteen year old girl dressed in a lovely blue walking outfit, wandering around the corridors? He probably figured it out the moment he saw her. Introducing herself was just a curtsey.

Nancy raised her chin defiantly. “And?”

Jonathan shook his head and began to back away. “I could lose my job-“

“Don’t worry,” she reached out and lightly caught him by the wrist. “You _won’t_.”

Jonathan looked at her with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

Nancy smiled at him. He didn’t return it.

“So,” she said. “What are you doing up here by yourself?”

Jonathan looked at the floor again. Nancy thought that he must do that often, it seemed like such a reflex. “I just needed to talk with Mr. Levy…I didn’t expect to run into anyone.”

Ah, Mr. Shawn Levy, her father’s second in command, and the man who was charge of overseeing all the workers in the mill. He came over for dinner fairly often, and Nancy couldn’t say that she was fond of him. Though much more pleasant to be around than her father by far, he spoke only in numbers and statistics, which Nancy found dreadfully boring to listen to.

“So you’ve managed to get yourself into some trouble, have you? I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a renegade.”

 He smiled a bit at her cheekiness. His smile was nearly close-lipped, and one side of his mouth pulled up a little bit farther than the other, but Nancy found herself enjoying it nonetheless.

“Maybe you need to start being a bit more observant.” He retorted. She hadn’t expected him to reply in equal measure, but what a pleasant surprise it was.

“Maybe I do,” she said, and Jonathan huffed out a breath of laughter the exact moment her shoulders began to shake with silent giggles.

~

Eventually, their conversation-and more particularly, their laughter, for apparently both Nancy and Jonathan could be very loud indeed when they forgot themselves-grew loud enough to attract the attention of Mr. Levy, who poked his graying head out the doorway of his office and looked at them questioningly.

“Ms. Wheeler, what a pleasant surprise.” He addressed them in order of class, as one does. “I didn’t expect you to be making a visit today.”

Nancy smiled at him politely. “It’s been much too long since I’ve been here, Mr. Levy. How is your daughter?”

“Oh, she’s doing quite well, thank you,” he said, then turned his attention to Jonathan. “Mr. Byers, didn’t I dismiss you for the day?”

“You did,” Jonathan said, “we were just…talking.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Levy turned to Nancy, who nodded in confirmation, which seemed to satisfy him. “Well, Ms. Wheeler, I’m sure your father is wondering where you wandered off to by now, and Jonathan, I trust I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow?”

“Of course, sir.” Jonathan said.

Nancy gave Mr. Levy a polite curtsey, then turned and made her way down the corridor, towards her father’s office. Before turning the corner, she made sure to give Jonathan a smile, one real and happy, to make sure he knew that she had really enjoyed speaking with him. He gave her a small one back, and Nancy felt something inside of her warm.

 


	2. Chapter Two

_Excerpt from ‘The Ladies Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, a Complete Handbook for the use of the Lady in Polite Society’ by Florence Hartley, G. W. Cottrell Publishing House, 1860_

_DINNER COMPANY._ _  
ETIQUETTE FOR THE HOSTESS_ _._

_Coffee follows the dessert, and when this enters, if your guests are gentlemen only, your duty is at an end. You may then rise, leave the room, and need not re-appear. If you have lady guests, you give the signal for rising after coffee, and lead the way to the parlor, where, in a few moments, the gentlemen will again join you._

_April 23 rd, 1871_

Steve Harrington gave three sharps knocks to the front door of number 15, Malgosia Street. A sharply dressed young man of fine stature and build, with tousled brown hair nearly the same color as his eyes, a handsome face, and confident posture, he held all the marks of the new money aristocracy. His father, Joseph Harrington, had struck oil when Steve was but nine years old. Joseph had used his new found wealth to purchase a beautiful new home for his family, and send his son to an exemplary boarding school in Connecticut. Steve’s mother, Chelsea Harrington, had used her shining charm to climb the societal ladder like an acrobat. So here he stood, Stephen David Harrington, a product of his parents luck and ambition, knocking on his fiancées front door at exactly seven o’ clock in the evening.

Mrs. Wheeler opened the door. She was wearing an expensive-looking, pine colored gown with a dangerously low décolleté. She smiled brightly upon seeing him, and moved aside to allow him in.

“Steve!” she exclaimed as she shut the door behind him. She guided him into the parlor with a hand between his shoulder blades, something that made him feel the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Nancy was sat on the brocade sofa opposite the doorway. The matching brocade chair at the small corner piano was pushed out. Mrs. Wheeler had probably been playing and jumped up the moment she heard him knock, which was not wholly unlike her. Nancy offered him a small smile, which he returned wholeheartedly.

He took a seat next to her on the sofa, and, to appease Mrs. Wheeler’s watchful eye, gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Steve, sweetheart, how are you?” Mrs. Wheeler asked, before Nancy even had time to open her mouth. Mrs. Wheeler sat down at the writing desk in the middle of the room, and folded her hands in lap her as she turned to face him. He noticed Mr. Wheeler sitting on the sofa on the far wall, buried in the evening newspaper. Steve didn’t expect him to be making much small talk.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” he replied. “How are you and Mr. Wheeler?”

“Oh, we’re doing very well indeed, thank you.” Her smile strained a little bit. “We’re very happy. In fact-“The ringing of the dinner bell cut her off, and, as Mr. Wheeler stood to escort his wife into the dining room Nancy shot Steve a look.

He rose and held out his right hand to escort her. She followed suit and took it, then leaned in close just outside the dining room.

“If you keep charming her like that, she’s going to start making eyes at you.” She whispered.

He only responded with a mock ‘charming’ grin and a wink, and Nancy playfully rolled her eyes as they entered.

~

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Mr. Wheeler-who was staring at his plate with, Steve thought, the most concentration he’d probably afforded anything that day-sat at the head of the table, and his wife across from him at the foot.

Steve and Nancy had been seated across from one another near Mr. Wheeler, close enough to speak, but far enough apart to discourage secret-keeping of any sort. Quietly sulking in between Nancy and her mother was Mike, a boy who, at the tender age of thirteen, had already mastered the infamous ‘Wheeler Glare’.

Opposite them, the Wheeler’s youngest child, Holly, separated Steve from Mrs. Wheeler. Holly was a pleasant child, with pretty blonde hair that hadn’t darkened to either of her parents deep browns in the two years since her birth.

“Nancy,” Mrs. Wheeler began, in that way that everyone knew meant she intended to be speaking for a while. “Are you excited to have your wedding gown made up?”

“Very.” Nancy replied. Her voice was monotonous and dry.

“When I married your father, my gown was marvelous. It’s such a wonderful feeling, the…” she trailed off, apparently realizing that she had talked herself into a corner. “Stability. The stability of being married is so very comforting.”

“I’m sure it is.” Nancy said in that same dry voice. Something about it set Steve on edge, made him feel stiff and nervous.

“And I know that Steve will take excellent care of you, right?” Mrs. Wheeler turned her gaze on him, as if daring him to mistreat her daughter.

“Of course.” He said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “I’d do most anything for Nancy, if she’ll have me.” And though the dramatics were light and playful, he felt his stomach churn when Nancy didn’t meet his eyes.

Their engagement had been an inevitable one. Their courtship had been long-nearly nine months-but by the time Steve had gotten Mr. Wheelers blessing, something that was unsurprisingly very easy, he was almost certain that he was in love with Nancy. At least, he knew he held a powerful affection for her. He’d finally asked for her hand in early winter of the last year, and since then, Mrs. Wheeler had been adamantly trying to speed up the engagement with talk of just how lovely being married truly was. The two had rejoiced in the freedom of finally being able to be alone together without having to sneak off, and although outward displays of physical affection were still very improper, small gestures, such as handholding, became acceptable. And despite all of this, Steve still sometimes felt that Nancy didn’t really wish to marry him. And though he knew that her character was not one prone to concocting vast lies for appearances sake, and though she was comfortable and affectionate with him, these doubts persisted. They crept into his mind like ivy and wrapped themselves around his thoughts, blocking out the sunlight until all evidence to the contrary had been strangled by the vines.

~

The house was quiet, as per usual. The Harrington’s maid, Shannon, had finished her work and gone to bed hours previous. A good thing, too. Her duties were numerous, and Steve could count on one hand the times he’d seen her resting in the two years she’d been employed by the family. The absence of Steve’s parents was also not unusual.

He immediately took to his bedroom, and barely bothered to undress before splaying out on his bed in his under things. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole of thoughts during dinner, many of them of a most unpleasant nature. Eventually, they had failed to take any kind of a cohesive form, and had instead settled inside of him as a distinct feeling of uneasiness.

It is very dangerous indeed to attempt to ignore one’s own emotions, and although, somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve knew this, what he chose to do was exactly that.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short, and I apologize for that. I've been very busy the past week (three theater projects, two tests, a middle college interview, a midterm, and my friends birthday), but I felt that a short chapter was better than nothing, and I was starting to miss this story. I hope everyone can still enjoy this, despite its briefness. 
> 
> Also: Thank you for the lovely comments! Going back and reading them really motivates me when I don't feel like writing.

_Excerpt from ‘The Ladies Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, a Complete Handbook for the use of the Lady in Polite Society’ by Florence Hartley, G. W. Cottrell Publishing House, 1860_

_MORNING RECEPTIONS OR CALLS._ _  
ETIQUETTE FOR THE HOSTESS._

_If, after affliction, your friends call before you are able to see them, do not fear to give offence by declining to receive them. They will respect your sorrow, and the call is made more to show their sympathy than from a desire to converse with you._

_April 25 th, 1871_

The air in the storage room was dry and hot. Tiny dust mites blew up and floated in the yellow light. When Jonathan wiped off the top of a crate, his hand had come back tinted gray.

He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and the night before that hadn’t been much better. The faint purple crescents that usually resided underneath his eyes had turned a deep lilac, and he’d nearly gotten his left hand chopped off at the saws that morning.

The door squeaked; Jonathan froze. He was effectively hidden behind several rows of stacked crates, but if whoever it was came around the corner, he was done for. The footsteps were light, and there was the faint sound of skirts brushing against the floor. His heart was pounding in his ears. Sure, he wasn’t needed anywhere, but he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be in the storage room. Most of the men left during the midday break-also known as their only break-just to get away from the stuffy heat of the mill. The storage room was considerably cooler, but Jonathan still felt sweaty with anxiety.

The footsteps drew closer. He knew he shouldn’t have come in here, he knew and yet he still did it, goddammit why did he ignore his common sense and-

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan blinked. Nancy Wheeler was standing in front of him, looking at his rather curiously. Her dark hair pulled back into neat little ringlets, and she was leaning forward slightly in the way that usually made him want to cringe away from people.

Jonathan relaxed a little bit. “Nancy.” He said, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing in here?” She asked.  

“It’s cooler in here,” he replied, then immediately regretted it. “I mean…not that it’s bad in the mill, or anything like that, it’s just…nice in here?” He intoned the last few words as if he wasn’t quite sure of his opinion.

Nancy smiled and sat down next to him, seemingly not caring for the dust or her-probably expensive-skirt.

 “Did you come in for something?” He asked.

Nancy shook her head. “No, I was…never mind. I’m not looking for anything. I am glad that I ran into you, though.”

Jonathan couldn’t argue. He’d been looking forward to possibly seeing her again, making her laugh again, despite knowing that the chances of them running into each other again were extremely slim at best.

“So,” he began. “Why are you creeping around? Practicing your posture?”

She laughed, bright and clear. “It will do you good to know that I graduated at the top of my class in posture.”

Jonathan found himself laughing with her. It was nice, more comfortable than the first time they had spoken, yet still slightly awkward with unfamiliarity. Despite having only known her for a couple of days, he felt as if he could trust Nancy; that she wasn’t one to reveal things she was told in confidence. Was he giving too much credit to a girl he barely knew? Perhaps. But perhaps it was also time to trust his intuition.

“Jonathan? Jonathan?” She tapped him on the arm once, twice, three times. “Jonathan, are you still there?”

He started and blinked a few times. Nancy was speaking to him, but he only just caught the tail end of her sentence. “Hm? What?”

She inclined her head, concerned. “You fell down the rabbit hole for a little bit there. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I just…thought of something.” Her hand was still on his arm. He almost asked her move it. Almost.

“Something important?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It doesn’t really matter.”

“If you’re sure, then.”

She followed his gaze pointedly down, to where her hand was still resting on his arm. “Um.” He said. “Could you…?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, and yanked her hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine.” Jonathan replied, just a little too quickly for comfort. He shifted his gaze to the wooden floor. The boards were old, probably cedar, and covered in a thin layer of sawdust. The air became thick with something hot and uncomfortable.

He wanted to tell her that he felt strange about casual contact with most people, that it wasn’t just her, that it wasn’t personal. Instead, he stood up and refused to meet her eyes.

“I should go.” He said.

Nancy looked at him deeply, studied his face. It made him feel ill in his chest.

After a moment, she, too, rose, and said “Good afternoon, then.” A retreat into politeness. A small part of Jonathan’s brain was telling him that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he was allowed to not enjoy being touched, but a much larger part was fully occupied feeling responsible for the awkward atmosphere, and guilty for making Nancy think that she in particular had made him feel uncomfortable.

Nancy looked like she wanted to say something, and he wanted to, too. He wanted to fix such a stupid, avoidable misunderstanding right then and there. But he didn’t. He didn’t say a single word as he backed up a few steps, then turned heel and hurried out of the storage room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow my writing blog (xclassicplasticx on tumblr) for updates on the story and some of my general ramblings. I'm also working on a playlist to accompany this story, so if anyone has any suggestions for songs, I'm all ears!


	4. Chapter Four

_Excerpt from ‘The Ladies Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, a Complete Handbook for the use of the Lady in Polite Society’ by Florence Hartley, G. W. Cottrell Publishing House, 1860_

_  
_ _CONDUCT IN THE STREET._

_You are not expected to recognize any friend on the opposite side of the street. Even if you see them, do not bow._

_Avoid "cutting" any one. It is a small way of showing spite, and lowers you more than your enemy. If you wish to avoid any further intercourse bow, coldly and gravely, but do not look at any one, to whom you are in the habit of bowing, and pass without bowing. If you do this, they may flatter themselves that they were really unrecognized, but a distant, cold bow will show them that you speak from civility only, not from friendship._

_April 29 th, 1871_

Robert Hanna Memorial Park was beautiful in the springtime. Daffodils had sprung up in vibrant yellow clusters around the pond, and delicate buttercups were scatters through the grass. Trees bloomed green and white along either side of the walkways. A young couple walking a rust-colored bulldog strolled by, chatting amiably. As the two passed, the dog wandered over to sniff around Steve’s feet. The woman holding its leash gave a gentle tug, coaxing it back to her side, and smiled apologetically. Steve returned the gesture in a nonchalant, ‘don’t-worry-yourself’ type of way.

The couple with the dog continued on their way through the park. Steve leaned back onto the bench, closed his eyes, and tipped his head so that the warm sunlight danced across his face.

After a few moments, he leaned forward again and opened his eyes, sun spots clouding his vision. As they cleared, though, something else came into view.

 No, not something, someone.

As they drew nearer, Steve was able to discern specific features, such as straight blond-brown hair, a thin face with a pointed chin, and deep, dark eyes. They seemed to be a young man, probably around Steve’s own age, but that was where the similarities ended. For starters, he was most definitely a bit shorter than him, though by how much, he couldn’t quite tell. More glaringly, he was dressed in laborers clothing, and moved with none of the self assuredness of those possessing of either money or status (if they were lucky, maybe even both).

He looked tired and waifish, and, Steve noticed, had dark stains on his fingertips. He was stunning.

Steve shook his head, as if to wake from his reverie. It’s very improper for men to become taken with other men. On the other hand, though, this wasn’t the first time that he had experienced such a feeling. There had been Tommy, whom he definitely had kissed a few times, but it was under the influence of quite a bit of alcohol, and they’d since had quite a vicious falling out anyways. He’d also admired a boy called Chester, whom he met at boarding school, for a while as well, but school was the time and place for such ‘experiments’, wasn’t it?

He shook his head again, this time to clear away the image of Chester spread out on his dorm room bed, half dressed with a lazy smile. The stranger had long since passed.

 

~

 

 “You know I can tell, right?”

Steve looked up. Nancy was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring very intently at the floor.

“Tell what?”

Nancy turned to look at him. Her hair had fallen from its pins, the loose curls forming a river down her bare shoulders.

“When there’s something on your mind, I can tell.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” he said. Nancy smiled and drew her legs up, sliding underneath the bedclothes.  

“Not communicating is my parlor trick, you can’t steal it.”

Steve laughed softly and shrugged. “I don’t know, I…I just feel strange; I don’t know what it is.”

“Is it about the wedding?” she asked.

He perked up slightly. She hadn’t wanted to seriously discus their impending marriage since he proposed! “Sure! Yes, I suppose it is.”

Nancy turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s strange for me, too.”

“You do want it, though, right?” _Please oh please oh good lord please say yes_.

“I think so.” She replied. “For some reason I never quite envisioned myself as a bride. Isn’t that silly? Of course I would get married, everyone always does. I just never gave it much thought, even when we were courting, I didn’t really consider the future.” She reached for his hand underneath the covers. “Though I suppose if I must be married, I’m glad it’s to you.”

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back just as tightly. “Me, too.” _She was glad it was him!_ “Though you were actually my second choice, you know.”

Nancy rolled her eyes and propped herself onto her elbow, so that they might face each other and speak properly. “And who exactly was your first, then?”

Steve smiled cheekily. “Phyllis.”

Nancy laughed brightly and gently shoved him on the shoulder. “She’s a laundry maid, and nearly 80!”

“I loved her against reason, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.” He threw his head back in drama at the end of his profession, the ends of his hair just avoiding becoming tangled on the bed frame.

Nancy laughed again. “Did you memorize that specifically for that joke?”

“Perhaps.” he said, and shrugged once more, the cheeky grin never leaving his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hate this chapter but I wasn't making any progress and I just need to get it up so I can focus on my english paper
> 
> also the quote is from Great Expectations if anyone was wondering


	5. Chapter Five

 

_Excerpt from ‘The Ladies Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness, a Complete Handbook for the use of the Lady in Polite Society’ by Florence Hartley, G. W. Cottrell Publishing House, 1860_

  
_CONDUCT IN CHURCH._

_In entering a church of a different denomination from the one you have been in the habit of frequenting, ask the sexton to show you to a seat. It is the height of rudeness to enter a pew without invitation, as the owner may desire, if her family do not require all the seats, to invite her own personal friends to take the vacant places. If you are not perfectly familiar with the manner of conducting the worship, observe those around you, rise, kneel, and sit, as you see they do. It is a mark of disrespect for the pastor as well as irreverence for the Most High, to remain seated through the whole service, unless you are ill, or otherwise incapacitated from standing and kneeling._

 

_April 30th, 1871_

 

 “Really, Michael, I just don’t like him. There are so many other children you could be friends with, who are so much more similar to your own-“

“My own what?!” Mike whirled around, stopping dead in the middle of the flow of people leaving the Sadie Hawkins United Methodist Church. “I’m _not_ a child, and you don’t like Lucas just because he’s-“

“ _Michael!_ ” Mrs. Wheeler exclaimed, and took his shoulder to move out of the flow of people. Mr. Wheeler trailed uninterestedly after his wife. Nancy shifted Holly-who had assumed as much of an expression of annoyance as a two-year-old could-in her arms, and followed her family down the side steps and onto the pavement.

“Let him go, Karen.” Mr. Wheeler said. His voice was dull and flat, but Mike seemed to appreciate his interference all the same. Before Mrs. Wheeler could form a retort, he had darted into the small crowd to find his friend. Mrs. Wheeler shot her husband an admonishing look, and quite obviously wanted to say something, but swallowed her voice. It would not do well to be seen chastising one’s own husband in public.

Nancy placed Holly on the ground, and watched her toddle forward a little bit before being scooped up again by her mother.

Nancy cast a cursory glance over the assemblage, and found her eyes resting on a figure made distinctive by their carefully coiffed hair. He caught her gaze and smiled, gesturing her over. She looked back at her parents-Mrs. Wheeler, who had been joined by Mrs. Tatlock in cooing over Holly, and Mr. Wheeler, who was staring into the face of his watch as if he thought it held all the great secrets of the world-and went over to him.

As she walked, she noticed two girls whose names she couldn’t recall-the one with shiny red curls might be Nicolette or Nicole or something like that, but she couldn’t place the other-giggling behind their gloved hands at people beginning to file into the church for the next service. Laborers, mostly, and servants, people who had been deemed unsuitable to worship alongside the upper crust of Indiana society. A woman with dark hair and work rough hands was ushering in a young boy with a drawn face. A tall young woman Nancy recognized as the Harrington’s maid had gotten the hem of her flannel dress caught in the rosebushes in front of the church. The dark haired woman glanced behind her and called-

“Jonathan!”

Nancy fought the urge to stop and turn. Jonathan was a very common name, after all, and who’s to say that her Jonathan-no, not _her_ Jonathan, simply the Jonathan she knew-even attended this church? It was speculation, plain and simple, and unfounded speculation never benefitted anybody.

She smiled at Steve as she approached him. He took her left hand and kissed it with an exaggerated bow, and she rolled her eyes playfully.

“What a sermon.” He said, emphasizing each word nearly to the point of theatricality. “I don’t know about you, but I feel absolutely inspired.”

Nancy huffed out a small laugh. “Really? Because I feel very morose.” She lowered her mouth into a pout, and Steve grinned.

“Well,” he began. “I can’t imagine that…” he trailed off, attention caught by something over and past Nancy. She followed his gaze to the people entering the church, but couldn’t seem to find what had enraptured him so until-

Oh no.

Oh _no._

Jonathan, her Jonathan, standing on the church steps, speaking with the dark haired woman and young boy she had seen before. His family, possibly? He had the same pallid countenance as the boy, and the woman’s dark eyes.

She turned back to Steve, flushed with worry, but he was still fixated on Jonathan.

_Oh no._

“Steve!” she exclaimed, and reached out to tap his wrist.

“Hm?” He snapped out of his reverie, shook his head once, and looked down at Nancy. “Sorry,” he said. “I just…thought I saw someone. It’s not important.”

Nancy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Of course, of course, it’d fine, I just…I mean, you frightened me for a moment.”

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, then refocused on her. “What were we talking about?”

~

Nancy had been pacing for so long she was sure she was going to wear a hole in the rug. The moment the Wheelers has arrived home, she’d rushed upstairs to her bedroom, the guilt crawling up her throat making explaining why she was such a hurry near impossible. Now that she was alone and able to contemplate, her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Why had she reacted so strongly to Jonathan’s presence at the church? Did she fear that he would recognize her and tell Steve of their flirting? _No,_ she concluded, that was most certainly not the case, because they had never flirted. They’d had some friendly banter, and perhaps sparked a small friendship, but that was it. They weren’t even married yet, but she already knew that she’d never do anything to intentionally hurt Steve. He _loved_ her, for goodness sake! And she was fairly certain she loved him, too.

Jonathan was a friend, someone whose company she thoroughly enjoyed, and that was it. That was absolutely, positively it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm not dead! I'm sorry that I left this story for so long, I just got really caught up with some personal things over the summer, then school started again, and this whole story just sort of got pushed to the side. Also, I found this blog (http://www.thisvictorianlife.com/) where I've been doing a lot of research for this story.


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